


Future Tense

by potentiality_26



Category: Wild Wild West (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Apocalypse, Character Death, Dark, Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mass Death, Partially Non-Linear Narrative, Sexual Content, Slash, Time Loop, Time Travel, Tragedy, Unhappy Ending, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-02 08:05:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potentiality_26/pseuds/potentiality_26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Artie didn’t think he should understand what his partner was saying, at least not right away.  He should be fighting it for all he was worth, but he wasn’t.  It seemed like he’d been wrestling with this truth for an age and it had finally slotted into place.</em>
</p>
<p>The past fights change, and people aren't very good at learning from it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Future Tense

**Author's Note:**

> 1) I don't read a lot of darkfic, so I have no idea where on any potential scale this fic rests. I have tagged and warned the hell out of it, though, and if you find yourself at all disinclined to read it, don't read it. I'm not altogether happy with it, and now that it's gone I'm going to work on a something nicer. 
> 
> 2) When I first started this fic (way too long ago), I was reading Stephan King's 11/22/63. Originally, it was my intention to use similar rules of time travel, but in the end this story just went its own way. Still, I think the novel informed it somewhat.

Artie started awake and the shadows of a dream about fire and people- so damn _many_ people- screaming skittered out of his grip as he tried to reach out for them.  He turned in his bed and Jim caught and held him tight.  For a second, he shuddered in his partner's sweet but uncompromising arms; Artie allowed himself that much before he galvanized, squirming out of his partner’s grip with enough energy that he flopped right out of bed and landed on his ass with a grunt on the sleeping compartment's wooden floor.

The bed creaked, and Jim peered over the edge.  In the dark, Artie saw worry and amusement, both relatively faint, warring for control of Jim’s expression.  Neither was in evidence in his tone, though, when he enquired, “You all right?” gently.

“How drunk did I get last night?” Artie demanded.  Hopefully, the follow up- _Did I have sex with you?_ \- was implied. 

“You don’t remember?”

Artie had thought that too was implied. 

He couldn’t remember drinking anything at all, but he _felt_ hung-over.  His head was buzzing and aching like a swarm of angry bees had taken up residence in his skull.  The inside of his mouth felt like it was filled with cotton and tasted like nothing he wanted to think about too closely.  One thing that he mercifully _didn’t_ feel was fucked, and he was almost positive that he would be feeling it if he had been.  The worst part was knowing that he might feel it, but he probably wouldn’t remember it.  He’d have to be pretty damn drunk to forget why he and Jim couldn’t be together- and if he could forget that, he could forget just about anything.  Even what it felt like to have James West inside him. 

“No,” he informed Jim shortly.  

“We were on a mission and you got knocked on the head pretty good.”

If Artie strained, he could vaguely remember himself and Jim picking their way through a cave, and then a pain lancing through his skull.  He winced at the memory and raised a hand to the back of his head, expecting to find a substantial goose-egg, but there was nothing there.  Artie frowned.  He must’ve been unconscious for a long time.  “At least tell me you got the guy.”

“He’s dead,” Jim replied shortly, and Artie got a chill from the strangely cold and clinical tone of Jim’s voice.  He’d heard Jim sound like that once or twice before, and he hadn’t cared for it any of those times.  It made Artie uncomfortable to imagine Jim killing for him, and something in the way his partner said it suggested that, while Artie was unconscious, he’d done just that.

With this new information, Artie could put everything else together into a passable context.  Jim had finished the job, carried Artie back to the train, and then put him to bed.  A month ago, that still wouldn’t have explained what Jim was doing _also_ in Artie’s bed.  A month ago, if someone had tried to tell him that waking up to find Jim curled around him would eventually become old hat to him, Artie would’ve laughed in his face. 

A lot of things can change in a month.

“I’m safe to sleep, I take it,” Artie said.  When James half nodded and half shrugged, Artie sighed and climbed back into bed.  “Then I’ll do so.”  He looked at Jim hard, hoping his partner would take the hint and leave.

Instead, Jim asked softly, “Can I hold you?”

“Since when do you ask anymore?” Artie asked in turn.  Jim had always been terse, but after what happened in Artie’s lab a month ago, Artie felt like he ought to consider himself blessed if the man said more than three words to him.  No, Jim didn’t speak much, but he acted.  He took more liberties every day.  There was a certain tetchiness in Artie’s voice that he hadn’t meant to put in it, but his head still ached, and he felt exhausted, physically and emotionally.  Injuries often left him weary; that much he could explain away even though he’d obviously been sleeping for a long time already- but he was also tired of trying to get through to Jim.  There were only so many ways to say no.

Jim didn’t leave, even though Artie knew Jim could tell he wanted him to; he just waited until Artie curled up, then wrapped himself around Artie’s back.  “I love you,” Jim said, and there they were: the three words Artie could usually count on.

Artie pointedly remained silent.

What Happened in Artie’s Lab, Take #1

_He was tweaking one of his old formulas for knockout gas, trying to get it just so.  As he expected Jim back any time, Artie didn’t reach for a gun when he heard a step on the floor._

_He regretted it when the man who appeared in his line of vision wasn’t Jim._

_The man was, as far as Artie’s every sense could tell him, Artie himself.  He had Artie’s hair and eyes and face.  Though he wore a white shirt, a brown waistcoat, and a taupe jacket and trousers while Artie was dressed in yellow and black and down to his shirtsleeves, he recognized the clothes the man was wearing as his own- he could’ve pointed them out in his closet.  The man was the right height, the right build, the right... everything._

_Artie first took a moment to wish- fervently- that he had gone into a line of work where that kind of thing would still surprise him._

_He then went for the gun he kept in the top right drawer of his supply cabinet and was a only a little bit surprised when the other Artie went for the drawer too.  But he_ was _surprised- unpleasantly so- when the other man got there first and trained the pistol on him._

_"Now,” the man began, in Artie’s voice, “I’m not going to kill you.”_

_"Not the best way to begin threatening a man.”_

_“I’m not_ trying _to threaten you,” the man replied.  “Though I will shoot you somewhere that’ll hurt if I have to.  I don’t_ want _to hurt you, though- I’d just like to buy myself enough time to establish my credentials.”_

_And what credentials might those be?”_

_"I’m you.  You from the future.”_

_Artie snorted, but he knew he’d have to let the man say his piece.  The same line of work that had made random and scientifically inexplicable doubles a normal part of his life had also made the idea of a version of him from the future travelling back in time to pay him a visit an unlikely and unpleasant but not altogether inconceivable prospect._

_The other man proceeded to summarize Artie’s life with frightening ease- including quite a few details Artie had been fairly sure that no one but him had ever known._

_"You’re good,” Artie said, when the man was finished.  “But Loveless’ double Janus knew a hell of a lot about Jim’s life, too.”_

_"True, but I’m not here to send the Secret Service on a wild goose chase or to gather sensitive information.  I don’t even expect you to answer any questions.  I’m just here to tell you something and then I’ll be on my way.  If all goes as I hope it will, I might even cease to exist.”_

_Artie blinked at the other man.  “Why would you want that?”_

_The other Artie shrugged.  “If you survive, in a way I will to- that’ll have to be enough.  Anyway, there’s nothing left for me in this world.”_

_"What a resounding message to hear from one’s future self.”_

_"I’m not finished.”  The other Artie planted himself.  Artie recognized in his posture hallmarks of his own body language- this man wanted Artie to know that the information he was trying to relay was vital indeed.  “In less than an hour James West is going to walk into this lab.  You’ll smell whiskey on his breath, but he won’t be drunk- just a little liquid courage.”_

_“Jim never needs anything like that,” Artie protested, thought it wasn’t as damning an argument as he would’ve liked.  He was captured by the look of recollection on the face of the man across from him; it was as though he was genuinely remembering when James had walked into_ his _lab with that smell of whiskey on his breath._

_"He will for this,” the other Artie said.  “He’s going to stand right where I’m standing now and tell you that he’s in love with you.”_

_"You’re crazy.”  Artie felt as though he’d been punched in the gut._

_“And then he’s going to lean in and kiss you.”_

_“You’re a liar or you’re crazy, one or the other.”  Artie felt drunk.  He felt like his insides were on fire.  That other Artie was full of shit- he had to be- but Artie couldn’t help what the very suggestion did to him.  He’d wanted James from the moment he laid eyes on him- who wouldn’t?- and the longer they had worked together and the more he’d come to know Jim, the more lust had turned into a deeper and far more bittersweet emotion.  He’d never risk their friendship in a desperate bid for more, so he fought the feeling at every turn, but it seemed to grow stronger with every day.  The very idea that Jim might feel the same way- about_ him _!- was utterly intoxicating._

_“I’m here to beg you to lie to him.”_

_“What?” Artie had lost the thread of the other man’s remarks._

_“Lie to him.”  The other man’s face and voice couldn’t have been graver or more urgent.  “Tell him you don’t feel that same way.  You’ll always love him, but not like that.  Never like that.”_

_"Why on earth would I tell him that?” Artie spat._

_“Because it could well be the only way to save the world.  And his soul.”_

_“How do you figure that?”_

_The other Artie opened his mouth.  This time Artie noticed all the hallmarks of himself about to deliver well prepared and well memorized material.  But the other Artie never managed it.  There was a step outside.  Someone- Jim, by the sound of it- was coming through the door to the parlor car.  “I timed it too late,” the other Artie said.  He cast a brief, longing look in the direction of the parlor and then he slipped out a trapdoor in the floor of the lab that Artie had also thought only he knew about.  By the time Artie got to his other spare revolver, there was no trace of the man._

_Artie was putting said revolver in the top drawer- it was still most convenient hiding place, even if someone out there did know about it- when Jim came into the lab.  “Have I got a story to tell you,” he began, but cut off when he looked over his shoulder at Jim._

_Jim looked so… tired- weary in a way Artie had never seen him even after days without sleep, yet also deeply, painfully affectionate.   “I have something to tell you, too,” Jim said, and then he walked up to Artie, stopping only when he stood exactly where the other Artie had, with the improvement that he didn’t have a gun trained on him.  It was not, Artie thought,_ much _of an improvement- not when Jim took a breath, let it out, and Artie smelled whiskey.  And then Jim said, “I love you.”_

_Even with advance warning, Artie probably gaped like a fish._

_This didn’t seem to trouble Jim, who leaned in to where Artie was trapped between his solid form and the chest of drawers and fitted his lips to Artie’s._

_Artie made a sound uncomfortably like a whimper and after a moment managed to tear himself away.  He was crazy to believe it- crazy to act on it even if he did believe it- but he did._ Because it could well be the only way to save the world, _the other Artie said._   And his soul _, the other Artie said, which was by far the more important prospect.  He couldn’t risk it.  He wouldn’t.  He said, “I’m sorry, Jim.”_

_Jim cocked his head to one side._

_"I don’t-” Artie swallowed, almost choked, and then managed it: “You’re like a brother to me.”  He couldn’t get his mouth around much else.  “That’s all.”_

_He was astonished when Jim didn’t recoil or question; his eyes didn’t flash with anger or hurt- they just smoldered with a kind of bleak resignation.  Then Jim leaned forward and Artie was afraid Jim might kiss him again, afraid he might not be able to refuse those perfect lips a second time._

_But he didn’t kiss Artie, he just pressed their foreheads together for a moment and breathed softly, wrapping himself around his partner.  Artie stayed frozen and awkward, as he would stay frozen and awkward every time Jim embraced him from then on, afraid that every line of his body in Jim’s arms would betray his in-no-way-brotherly affections._

_“Okay,” Jim whispered.  He released Artie and left._

_At the time, Artie was afraid Jim would leave, ask for a transfer or quit entirely, walk away from their partnership.  He didn’t realize until later that this was not the most painful possibility._

*   *   *

When Artie woke up the second time, his head still ached.  He felt like his head had been aching for a hundred years.  He remembered this time that in his dream the people had been burning up and dying by the thousands and begging him for help.  He remembered that he’d been there too, floating above it all, unable to interact with anything or save anyone.  Artie tried to shake it off as Jim nuzzled the back of his neck, but the feeling of devastation refused to fade. 

Though Artie was no stranger to bad dreams, this one was something else- something much worse than a typical nightmare.  He knew it in the same primal part of him that was sure the other Artie was telling the truth, even though he had no good reason to believe it. 

He rolled out of Jim’s grip, slipped a dressing gown over his nightshirt, and then padded to the kitchen to make coffee.

The sky- what Artie saw of it through the drawn curtains- was an unpleasant pasty grey, the kind that made the time of day seem an irrelevant, intangible thing.  It could have been morning or evening or the middle of the afternoon. 

“Where are we?” he asked when Jim joined him in the kitchen. 

Jim shrugged.

Although at this point he knew well that Jim’s efforts to help in matters culinary rarely ended well, Artie let Jim handle the pot.  From what he could tell, he’d been sleeping for days, but all he wanted was to crawl into bed again.  He attributed it in part to his persistent headache, and he attributed that in part to the bizarre smell in the air.

It was strangely thick, smoky- but Artie was no stranger to a little ash.  What bothered him was the unmistakable odor of meat: fresh and rotten, raw and burned.  It was a potent- potently unpleasant- aroma, one that he’d encountered a few times around the slaughterhouses of Chicago- but they weren’t in Chicago.  When Artie brushed the curtains aside, all he saw was charred plains and train tracks in either direction.  There had been a fire here not too long ago- that much was readily apparent.  Burned fat gave the smoke a repulsive physical component, which coated the back of Artie’s throat in a sickening film.

“At least tell me what our next mission is.”

“No mission,” Jim’s voice came from somewhere behind him, stilted and odd.  “We’re on vacation,” he added. 

“A furlough?” Artie asked.

Jim didn’t answer. 

“Two weeks?” 

Again, nothing, but Artie detected a kind of affirmative in the air.  He gave a whistle, but not a happy one, and turned in time to see Jim’s mouth quirk into something like a smile in many of its particulars, but emphatically not one. 

Normally, Artie would feel secure in the knowledge that Jim hated being forced into a vacation a lot more than he did.  But since the day Jim told Artie he loved him a month ago, Artie hadn’t felt secure in anything at all. 

Jim handed Artie his coffee in a small tin cup.

Once- incidentally also in Chicago- Artie had fed a stray dog a few times.  The dog wasn’t feral; he’d obviously been someone’s pet once, but that had been a long time ago.  It had taken to following Artie around, and it could be almost heartbreakingly affectionate- but it could also be skittish.  It could be downright mean.  Artie had never liked that dog, but he kept feeding it because he could see the lines of its bones when it walked and he knew nobody else was going to.  He couldn’t just let it die, not when he could help it.

That dog had been on Artie’s mind a lot lately.

If someone had asked Artie how he thought Jim would react if he told Artie that he loved him and Artie said he didn’t love him back, he would’ve told them that they were insane.  But if they had managed to convince him that the question was purely hypothetical and he’d put his mind to it, he would’ve said that Jim would withdraw even more, that his pain would be obvious only to someone who knew him and that he wouldn’t press his interest by a syllable once he’d been rejected.  But though Jim had certainly withdrawn, he also touched Artie constantly, told Artie he loved him constantly.  And as it slowly but surely became one of the only things Jim said of a day, Artie just as slowly and surely learned to cringe every time he heard it.

Two weeks alone with Jim in the middle of nowhere.  Artie shook his head to himself at the very thought.  If there was something more like hell on Earth, he didn’t know what it might be. 

He didn’t know what to make of Jim anymore- he just knew that something was going to give, and soon.  Maybe Artie had gotten a message from the future and it was somehow vital to the survival of the world that he and Jim break each other’s hearts.  Or maybe his instincts were wrong and this was all some elaborate hoax, and the man that Artie had spoken to was a double and maybe so was the man on the train with him.  Either way, Artie had little left to lose.

For the most part, Jim _seemed_ like Jim.  He walked like Jim and talked like Jim; he remembered the things that Jim would remember and knew the things that Jim would know.  If he was a double, he was the best that Artie had seen, and Artie had seen more than his share.

But all the same, Jim was off- and the way he acted about the whole loving Artemus thing was only its most obvious manifestation.  The man seemed so tired, so distant, even with only words of love coming out of his mouth.  After a long quiet spell, if Artie tried to draw him out, first he looked at him like he’d never seen him before and then frowned and stammered like he’d forgotten how to speak altogether.

Maybe these were cracks in the otherwise perfect veneer.  

Or maybe this was just what happened to James West when Artie claimed he didn’t love him back.  Maybe, though Jim pretended for the most part as though nothing had changed, Artie had broken something inside him.

The worst part of it was believing the other version of himself that he’d met.  Believing that he had somehow travelled back in time and that all this was somehow necessary.  It was a horrible belief to carry around.  It ached in his bones and sent chills up and down his spine. 

Artie’s hands shook just thinking about it, and he spilled hot coffee on them.

Jim relieved him of the cup and kissed Artie’s reddening fingers.  He said, “I love you,” in case Artie had somehow remained unaware.

“Don’t,” Artie said, and jerked out of Jim’s grip.

As always, Jim let him go without a fight- but like the damned dog, Artie knew that he’d be back.  Artie stumbled out of the kitchen with Jim’s eyes dragging down his back like hands.  There seemed to be nothing else to do, so he went back to bed.  He lay there for a while before drifting off, wondering about that future self he’d met.  What happened to him after he left the train?   Had he disappeared, as he’d hoped, or not?  More importantly- what happened to him _before_? 

Wherein English is Not a Language Well Suited to Describing Time Travel

_By one method of counting, it was a month ago that a future version Artie boarded the train and convinced his younger self to tell James West that he didn’t love him.  By another method, it was five years ago- because for that Artie, that from-a-future-that-no-longer-existed Artie, it had been five years since Jim had made his declaration in Artie’s lab.  Five years since he’d told Jim that he loved him too.  So much.  Almost too much to bear._

_But how did one explain what happened_ before _he went back, really?  How did one even begin to contemplate it, let alone speak of it?_ _Before Artie talked to his younger self, before he boarded that past version of the train, before he turned on the device that allowed him to go back in time in the first place, where- or more accurately_ when _\- did one say he was?_

_That version of Artie didn’t know, and since the plan was to erase that_ when _from the universe entirely, he concluded that it didn’t matter all that much._

_He was just somewhere, in some when, just... waiting.  For what, he never quite knew._ _In the mornings, he left their shared bad in the house that his version of Jim West had built for him- incidentally one of the only buildings standing in that version of the world- and watched the sun come up over the nothingness.  Then he went to work; he needed nothing else to remind him_ _that he was doing the right thing when he set out to effectively obliterate what little remained._

_That was his life.  Every day looked just like the one before it had looked and just like the one after it would look, and his only way to mark time was his progress in figuring out how to make it work- the time travel device.  He'd begun to forget what any walls but the walls of their house looked like, what any face but Jim's face looked like, and he was tired.  So tired._

_Even so, when he left Jim in bed that last time, he wanted to kiss him goodbye.  He didn't, though, because he didn't want to wake him._

_Jim woke up anyway, padded to the lab, and wrapped himself around Artie’s back without a word._

_So as Artie checked all the levers and relays on the device for the last time, he talked.  He hated how silent James always was, so he filled the silence by telling him about what he going to do._

_"If it works,” he said, “We’ll never be together.”  Implied:_ How do you feel about that?

_"Won’t do any good,” Jim replied, mouth fitted to Artie’s shoulder muscle._

_"How do you know?” Artie asked, wondering if it was Jim’s vanity talking.  If he thought he was just that irresistible.  Maybe he was.  “You don’t think I can stay away from you for a few years?”  Surely that past Jim would find someone else to love before long._

_He felt Jim shrug.  “Maybe you will, maybe you won’t.  What I mean is: it won’t matter.  Nothing is going to change.”_

_"We’ll see,” Artie said._

_Jim shrugged again, as if it didn’t matter to him one way or the other.  Then he said, “One more for the road?” and pressed the heel of his palm against Artie’s cock through his trousers.  Artie sighed, closed his eyes._

_They’d been lovers after their fashion for a long time before it happened.  The end.  And after, well… he’d peeled Jim’s hands off his body a thousand times, informed Jim that he made his skin crawl tens of thousands of times.  It was true, but as much as Artie would have liked that to stop him wanting Jim, it hadn’t.  When he finally gave in and let Jim touch him again- it was hard to say how long ago_ that _had been, telling time was already difficult and Artie hadn’t even turned the time travel device on yet- Jim had made up for lost time by bringing Artie off over every flat surface in the house._

_“One more for the road,” Artie agreed, and Jim dropped to his knees._

_If Artie timed it badly, if he lingered too long and heard that other Jim- the Jim he’d fallen in love with- stepping into the parlor, he had Jim’s_ one more for the road _to thank for it._

*   *   *

The next time he woke up, he hardly remembered what he’d dreamed, which he thought was an improvement.  His throat was sore, raw and hoarse- leaving him with the distinct feeling that he’d been screaming- which was _not_ an improvement.  Little better was the fact that Jim was leaning over him, a hand on each shoulder.  Jim looked truly frightened.

_Had_ he been screaming, tossing and turning?  What the hell was he dreaming about?   

Artie wrestled away from Jim, went outside, and threw up. 

He really didn’t know for sure if he’d gone outside because he felt sick, or if he’d gone outside to get away from Jim and gotten sick because of what he saw.

Initially, he'd assumed that they were on a stretch of prairie somewhere in the middle of nowhere where there had recently been a fire.  It was a reasonable assumption- the only one that, being sane, he could really bear to entertain.  What he saw was a city.  Without landmarks or geographical points of any kind, it was difficult for Artie to tell which one.  It had been burned, and leveled- but Artie could see that people had lived and died there, and recently.

Artie hadn’t touched the coffee in the end, or eaten or drank anything at all in God only knew how long, so it was mostly spit and stomach acid that he coughed up, but he kept retching for what felt like hours. 

Jim followed him outside and rubbed his back gently, making soothing noises.  Artie didn’t shake him off right away because message from a future version of himself or no, he’d waited a long time for Jim to touch him like that.  Like he was something precious.

When Artie could speak, he said, “You never used to lie to me.”

“I never used to have secrets like this to keep,” Jim replied, voice mild enough that they could've been conversing about the weather.  “Anyway, every day that I didn’t tell you I loved you was a lie.  It was always a lie.”

Artie wiped his mouth.  “Damn it, Jim.”

Jim pushed his face into Artie’s hair.  “I’m sorry.”  But Artie could tell that he wasn’t, that he just hoped it might smooth things over.

Artie swallowed heavily.  Seeing what was outside had been bad enough- so why was it that his headache increased tenfold not then, but when Jim said: _Anyway, every day I didn’t tell you I loved you was a lie_?  What was it, this thing in the back of his mind that insisted he cower away from the words instead of reach out to them?  He was supposed to _want_ Jim to love him.  He certainly used to.  To cover this turmoil, Artie asked, “What happened here, Jim?”

“It’s hard to explain.  There was a doomsday device.  It went off.”

“Is everyone here dead?”

Jim licked his lips.  Something flashed through his eyes.  Something more, something he was debating telling Artie.  Jim said, “Yes.”  Artie couldn’t tell if he’d decided to tell Artie the truth then, and done so, or decided to keep it from him.

Shadows of Artie’s dream played over his eyelids.  Something about fire and being suspended in the air, useless.  He decided to push, taking a leap that he prayed Jim would deny like a shot.  Though he hated it, he didn’t think Jim _would_ deny it.  “Is everyone everywhere dead?”

Ever so briefly, Jim's eyes flicked away.  He cleared his throat.  "There are pockets of survivors, I hear."  _From whom?_ Artie wondered bitterly, but didn't ask.  He'd known the truth from the moment Jim glanced away from him.  "We were in the room with it, so we were shielded.  We weren't the only ones."

Artie didn’t remember any evidence that the cave boys had had that kind of technology, but sometimes there wasn’t any evidence.  Most likely, they'd been in league with a bigger fish, but Artie couldn't think who.  The fact was that for some reason the more Artie thought about the whole incident the more the memory slipped away from him.  Just like those dreams of fire and so much death.   He kept waiting; waiting, maybe, for Jim to finally say something that made sense. 

Instead, Jim finally said, "Yes, Artie."  He sighed.  "For the most part yes.  Everyone's gone."

Damn, but Artie's head hurt.  He didn't ask who the other people were or how the train had survived when most other architecture clearly hadn't.  Maybe it too had been shielded- or, hell, maybe Artie had been dreaming of death for a thousand years and Jim had spent them rebuilding it from the ground up with the help of Doctor Loveless.  What did the truth matter anymore?

Speaking of things that didn't matter anymore- “Then I don’t suppose it can do much harm to say that I love you too.”  Artie craned to examine his partner, his face.  “You never doubted it.”

Jim just looked at Artie.

Artie got up quickly, wanting to avoid the feel of Jim’s arms around him just then, but then he tottered, stumbled, and Jim caught him easily and helped him onto the train.  Once inside, Artie said, “Don’t think it’s escaped me that right after someone told me the world might end, it did.  Everything that’s happened had something to do with you.  With us.”

His partner said, “It’s complicated.”

Artie said, “What did you do?”

The horror of what he knew and what he saw and what he smelled and what he tasted coating his tongue subsided slowly and left cold reason in its place.  He stood in the middle of the parlor that still looked like it always had before the end of the world, crossed his arms, and waited.

“That’s complicated too,” Jim told him.

“Tell me.”

“The doomsday device?  I let them set it off.”

Artie didn’t think he should understand what his partner was saying, at least not right away.  He should be fighting it for all he was worth, but he wasn’t.  It seemed like he’d been wrestling with this truth for an age and it had finally slotted into place.  “Why?” he asked, simply.

He could see the moment Jim opened his mouth to say it was complicated again, then thought better of it.  “I made a deal.  For help bringing you back.  After- you know.”

“I wasn’t unconscious, was I?”

“No.  You were dead.”

Artie looked hard at Jim.

“You’re alive now.  You’re really alive and you’re really you this time.  Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, huh?”  Jim’s expression suggested he doubted this would really get him anywhere, but he was trying it anyway.

“Gift horses don’t typically involve the apocalypse.”

Jim met Artie’s eyes without flinching, or even reacting at all.

The implication- which felt like it had been buzzing around his head forever- slammed into Artie.  If Jim did this to save him, that made all of this- at least partially- his fault.  The horror bubbled back up again, crested, and then mixed with rage.  He slapped Jim across the face, hard.

His partner took it the way he took everything else lately.  Silently.

"Are you sorry?” Artie asked, though he knew the answer already.  Knew it and wasn’t sure if he wanted Jim to lie to him about it or not.

“No.  You’re here with me.”

“What makes you think I’ll stay with you after this?”

“There’s nowhere else for you to go.”

He slapped Jim again.  “God damn you,” he hissed.  Jim rocked very slightly back- maybe more in reaction to Artie’s words than to the slap.  He certainly made no attempt to retaliate.  “How could you do this?  I’m supposed to know that you would _never_ do this!”  Artie couldn’t tell if he should be surprised or not to find that he was crying.  “Why don’t I know that?” Just as there was nowhere else for Artie to go, there was nothing else for him to do, so he kept hitting Jim until Jim grabbed his arms and pulled Artie against his chest.  Artie struggled for a while, but he felt so, so tried.  Soon it was all he could do just to stay stiff and unforgiving in Jim’s grip.  

“Let me hold you,” Jim said, gripping Artie’s shoulder blades.

Artie wriggled out of Jim’s grasp and folded in on himself, unwilling to present his partner with any weak points.  “No,” he spat.  “You make me sick now.”  It didn’t feel like it was the first time he’d said these words. 

Jim didn’t wince; he didn’t react at all.  He just waited, and the next time Artie stilled his hands were on him again.  It wasn’t true- at least, it wasn’t the whole truth.  Artie still wanted Jim, very much, he just thought he shouldn’t.  But it gave him a cold chill to think that he didn’t really have a choice, that he never had.  His James had never been good at taking no for an answer, but he’d never seen the dark side of it quite like he did now.  

“Are you going to just knock me over and fuck me the next time I’m off my guard?”  Only after he said it did it occur to Artie that Jim might take it into his head to do just that.  After all, once he’d destroyed the world, anything was fair game- and they’d already established that Jim didn’t care if Artie said no anymore.  He eyed his partner suspiciously for a while, but Jim didn’t do anything.

Jim said, “If you get hard, I’ll suck you.”

For all the thought of Jim’s mouth on him was an attractive one and probably always would be, what desire Artie felt was overshadowed by such a maelstrom of other emotions- anger and disgust chief among them- that any physical reaction was negligible.

Artie’s lack of reaction didn’t appear to trouble Jim in the slightest; anyway, he hadn’t said it flirtatiously or even hopefully- he’d merely said it like a statement of fact.

More, that seemed to be all the conversing Jim wanted to do on the subject.

He said, “Let me hold you,” again.

That was all Jim honestly seemed to want.  Other than the one kiss in Artie’s lab what felt like an age ago, he’d never tried anything else- and now that Artie thought about it, it had been somewhat… perfunctory.  “Aren’t you already?” Artie said.  Since that day in Artie’s lab, Jim always was.  If his arms weren’t around it Artie, they had been recently and would be again soon.  Right now, one of Jim’s hands was rubbing Artie’s stiff shoulders from behind him.  The other was hooked around his chest.

“No, I’m not,” Jim said.  He waited for Artie to figure it out.

When he did, he still didn’t understand it.  He didn’t understand why Jim’s mind was always on this, why it was so important to him.  A congratulatory clap on the shoulder here, a steering hand on the small of the back there- but they’d never really hugged.  Still, it was no reason for Jim to treat it like the ultimate consummation, and he seemed to be doing just that.

The energy- the general caring- went abruptly out of Artie like air from a balloon.  He collapsed against Jim’s chest.  Jim whined softly and drew Artie to him the rest of the way, his arms warm and tight but not stifling.  Perfect.  His mouth brushed against Artie’s ear, but he didn’t kiss.

“He was wrong.  It didn’t work,” Artie whispered bleakly, before he remembered that Jim didn’t know about the Artie from the future.  Who, in case Artie had still wanted proof, had obvious been right about the end of the world if not about how to stop it.

But then Jim said, “I told him that it wouldn’t.”

Artie gave himself a moment to process this, but it didn’t help. 

Jim raised a hand to touch Artie’s face, his fingertips brushing his hair lightly, his palm calloused but tender on his cheek.  The fondness in his eyes was terrifyingly sweet. "I know about the device, Artie.  That wasn't even the first time you'd used it."

Artie’s brows drew together as he attempted to puzzle these words out.  He looked accusingly at Jim and demanded, “What did you do?” again. 

 

“It’s not what I did- not in this case.”  He ran his thumb over Artie’s bottom lip.  “That was all you."  

What Happened in Artie’s Lab, Take #2

_He was tweaking one of his old formulas for knockout gas - or at least he had been.  Having a double of himself appear and start spouting nonsense had a way of putting to a stop nearly all activities not absolutely vital to survival; having his own gun on him did the rest._

_“I know you don’t believe this,” the double was saying.  “But I’m you.  I’m trying to help.”_

_“Imagine for a moment that I do believe you,” Artie began, going through all the other weapons he had hidden throughout the lab in his mind. “And you’re me from the future.  Why would you come back?”_

_“Wouldn’t_ you _?  If you could really make things… better?”_

_“You have me there,” Artie replied, though he wasn’t really thinking about it.  He knew perfectly well that there would be no good way to do this- if some future version of him had, in fact, decided to- but it was a lot more likely that Doctor Loveless or one of a dozen other scientists they’d fought had just gone back into the double making business, and this was particularly bizarre one.  He just needed to buy himself enough time to formulate a plan.  There was one device in the lab that-_

_"I wouldn’t do what you're thinking of doing,” the double said.  “You know that thing only works in the theory.  Anyway, you’re going to want to hear what I have to say.”_

_“Make it quick.  I’m expecting Jim back soon.”  Artie was more worried about that than he chose to admit.  Jim would know that one of them wasn’t his Artie- but looking at the man Artie couldn’t feel totally confident that he’d pick the right one.  They were almost interchangeable._

_“All right,” the double said.  “When he comes, he’s going to tell you something.”_

_“What?” Artie sighed._

_“He’s going to tell you he’s in love with you.”  The double used the moment Artie spent frozen and gaping soundlessly at him to continue.  “When he does, tell him you feel the same way, but that you can’t bear the thought of being with him on the job.  Of what it would do to you- to both of you- if something terrible happened.  Tell him if you both quit the service, you can be together.”_

_Artie didn't want to let what the other Artie had said sink in, didn't want the pain that entertaining himself and Jim and the words_ be together _in the a single thought for even a moment would bring when he was inevitably reminded of all the reasons why it was impossible.  But it did sink in.  It gave him vertigo and he steadied himself against the cabinet, feeling as though the Earth was spinning around him or had dropped away from beneath him entirely- one or the other._

_When he recovered enough to look around the other Artie was gone, as if he’d never been.  This seemed to Artie the most likely explanation._

_He laughed at himself, a little hysterically.  All the times he’d assured himself that unrequited love wouldn’t kill him or send him mad, he’d apparently been wrong.  He suddenly found this fact deeply, horribly humorous._

_Only when he heard Jim’s step in the parlor- maybe a few minutes later, maybe a few hours- did Artie stop laughing._

_When he did, he just felt cold._

_One moment he was trying to straighten himself up, to look less like he’d lost his mind for Jim’s sake, and the next Jim’s arms were around him, warm and strong, and Jim’s eyes were bright with worry and confusion- and he was saying something, but it was rather like trying to hear sound through water, and it seemed to Artie muddled and strange._

_Was he asking if Artie was all right?  Artie thought he was._

_At some point, he seemed to establish that Artie was, because though his grip on Artie tightened the concern in his eyes became affectionate amusement.  He huffed out a laugh, faintly perfumed with whiskey, and it fanned warmly over Artie’s cheek.  Jim said something else._

_The world snapped abruptly into focus.  “What?” Artie managed._

_“I love you.”_

_“Jim-”_

_Tilting Artie chin upward with gentle fingers, Jim pressed his mouth to Artie’s.  Artie let out a little whine- a sound he might have thought to be embarrassed about had he been able to think at all- and gave in to his partner immediately, softening under his sweetly questing lips._

_He felt Jim smile at the acquiescence.  In the firm muscles under his hands, Artie also felt Jim relax.  So he hadn’t been so sure of his welcome after all._

_Artie smiled himself then, and deepened the kiss.  He was unsure what it was about that trace of uncharacteristic uncertainty that had so soothed him, but he knew that it had- and that he had no intention of wasting the gift which had been so unexpectedly bestowed on him._

_And if these were the fruits of madness- well, he’d enjoy them while he could._

_But Jim didn’t feel like a dream or a hallucination.  He felt warm and solid, holding Artie back with equal enthusiasm.  His lips were firm but easily coaxed open- and the inside of his mouth was pure heaven, hot and slick.  And Jim didn’t taste like a dream.  He tasted like that saloon’s bad whiskey and Artie’s good coffee- and underneath, something masculine and strong, something pure Jim, something Artie had wanted to taste for a long time._

_Artie groaned and pushed Jim away._

_“What’s wrong?” Jim asked.  His expression didn’t change, but there was a faint shuttering around his eyes, as if he was closing down on the hurt, as if he was thinking how of course it was too good to be true and he’d been a fool to let himself believe it._

_Artie knew that feeling far too well to leave Jim like that, so he kissed him again, quickly, having to struggle not to lose himself in Jim’s warmth, Jim’s taste.  He pushed Jim away again.  “Nothing,” he assured him.  He even managed a smile.  “Nothing.  But we have to talk and I can’t think with you-” he gestured in what he hoped was a descriptive manner and saw Jim relax again, eyes heating faintly._

_“You don’t have to think,” he rumbled._

_“I do,” Artie corrected.  Somehow, the reason centers of his brain had found a way to remind him of the other Artie and what he’d said what felt like a million years ago.  It sounded so crazy- he was sure it was crazy- but… “Look, Jim- what if we… what if we quit, you and me?  We could find some place to live and not have to worry about what would happen if we got found out or what it would be like if one of us really couldn’t get out of it next time.  We could-”_

_“Yes.”_

_“I know it’s probably not the life you want, but if I- yes?”_

_“Yes,” Jim repeated, smiling._

_“Oh.  Well.  Thank you.”  Artie felt breathless with a relief he couldn’t even explain to himself, so he called it lust and kissed Jim fiercely, tongue seeking anew the slick of heat of Jim’s mouth.  He quickly forgot any thought- any concept- but_ more.

_He fumbled with, then tore at, Jim’s buttons and thrust his hands under Jim’s shirt.  Jim’s skin was warm, smooth, wonderful.  More.  Artie slid his hands lower, searching for the fastenings of Jim’s trousers._

_Jim caught him.  “Don’t.”_

_“What’s wrong?” Artie managed.  He felt the fear he’d seen in Jim’s eyes when_ _he spoke those words creeping up on him._

_“Nothing,” it was Jim’s turn to say.  It was something, though- but Jim was quick and he paid attention and it would actually be a long time before Artie figured out what.  At the moment, Artie head only, “Just… let me.”  It was the fastenings to Artie’s trousers that Jim found, and Artie gasped, hips bucking faintly, when Jim’s fingers first trailed over his cock.  “Let me,” Jim repeated, almost reverently, and got on his knees._

_That- that was heart-stopping enough.  For a moment, Artie could’ve sworn he might come from the sight of Jim kneeling before him alone.  But that wasn’t all- Jim licked the tip of Artie’s cock, already leaking want, and then swallowed Artie whole.  He choked a little when Artie hit the back of his throat._

_Artie managed to push Jim back, though it was a near thing.  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, so close to the edge he wasn’t sure what he’d do.  Lord, but Jim’s mouth felt good._

_“You didn’t,” Jim promised.  “You won’t.”  He sounded awfully sure for a man Artie would’ve wagered had never looked at another man twice before, let alone got down on his knees and sucked one off.  Had Artie been unforgivably dense, or- “It’s just that I’ve never done that in this body before.  Sometimes it takes a second to-”_

_He didn’t finish, just swallowed Artie down again and- God, that was perfect.  That was phenomenal.  Much too phenomenal to give any thought to what Jim had said and why there was something very wrong about it._

*   *   *

Artie mouthed at Jim, trying to understand.  "How- how- how do _you_ remember?" 

Jim gave him a little space, looking thoughtful.  “I don’t really understand the device, and the man who built it has been dead for a long time.  All I know is that you go back and talk to your old self, or to some other person.  You interact with the timeline, but you’re separate from it, if that makes sense.”  Jim’s brow furrowed.  “Does it make sense?”

“As much as anything does,” Artie sighed.

“Every time you go back, my… consciousness, I suppose, just snaps back into my old body sitting in that saloon trying to work up the courage to tell you how I feel about you.”  Jim sighed, still touching Artie's face gently.  “It’s like we’re- I’m… in a kind of… a loop, I guess you’d say."

Artie didn't remember other times, did he?  Though he thought that maybe if he strained could hear Jim say something about how _sometimes it takes a second to_ \- but then it was gone again. 

Jim continued.  "We've been in the loop for a while, now.  Every time, you die and things get… bad.  I bring you back and… sooner or later, you always get it into your head that if you just played things differently, I’d never-”

“Destroy the world?”

Artie kept saying it more to get his own head around it than to torment Jim, but it bothered him that Jim never flinched anyway.  That was foolish, he knew.  If Jim was at peace with what he’d done, Artie couldn’t force on him a contrition that he didn’t feel- but Artie couldn’t keep himself from feeling a certain disappointment.  The fact was, if Artie had resolved to do something terrible to save Jim, he might not feel guilty afterwards either- but he couldn’t get it out of his head that _Jim_ was supposed to be better than that.  The fact that it hadn't technically been Jim's finger on the proverbial trigger didn't mean much to Artie.  For Jim and his moral compass- which Artie had always thought as steady and true as the sunrise- letting it happen was exactly as bad as doing it himself. 

He wondered maybe if he hadn’t done both of them a disservice by putting Jim on such a high pedestal all these years. 

When Jim said, “Yes,” simply, he knew for sure that he had.

Thinking about Jim now- about what he’d been willing to do, what he’d had the capacity to do all these years without Artie ever noticing- Artie felt strange, like his skin was too small to hold him and set with dozens of tiny charges. 

“You’re the real problem,” Artie commented.  It was half a thoughtless, emotionless scientific conclusion and half an accusation.  “The fact that you know the future, it… it skews the results.”  It felt wrong- and yet so horribly right- to talk about the whole business like some kind of failed experiment.

“Maybe,” Jim agreed, easily.  “But I can’t help that.  I didn’t make the machine that way, it just happens.  And it’s always your choice to go back.”  

“And it’s your choice to bring me back, even though you know that I’ll hardly be able to look at you after.”

“And this has been one of the good times,” Jim agreed, sounding genuinely pleased despite the fact that if Artie looked carefully he could already see bruises cropping up on Jim’s face.

“ _Is_ it?”

“Yeah.  I mean, you haven’t shot me.  Yet.”  Artie blinked at his partner, who only held him more tightly.  “Like I said, this time you’re really alive and you’re really you.  That hasn’t always been the case.  I’ve made deals with a lot of bad people.  Some deliver better than others.”

“Who delivered this time?”

“You know who.”

Did he?  Doctor Loveless came to mind, and suddenly Artie's thought about Jim and little doctor rebuilding the train together didn't seem so ridiculous.  But the fact was that Loveless wasn’t the only one who could and would find a way to bring back the dead if it meant turning James West into his personal lackey.  He wasn’t the only one who take pleasure in making Jim a party to the end of everything.  Artie decided it didn’t matter; he had too much else to think about.

Jim wasn’t finished.  He’d added: “Even the first time I did it, I knew it would never be all right with you.”

“Then _why_ do you do it?”

“Just to be with you a little while longer.”

“What?” It had come out of Artie’s mouth without him resolving to let it.  He didn’t doubt Jim’s word; it wasn’t possible to do so under the circumstances.  But even so… “I don’t- I don’t understand, Jim.  I’ve-” Artie cut himself off.  He’d died before, or at least Jim had thought he had.  He’d never shown any evidence of- of this.  Or had he?  Had Artie been missing the signs all this time?  He didn’t want to hear Jim tell him so, if he had, so he asked, “What happens to me, Jim?” instead.  “To the future me, I mean, after going back?”

 “I don’t know,” Jim said, frowning.  “I’ve looked for you, a few times.  For him, I mean.  I like to think he just… melts away, but… the truth is, I think there’s a price, and the machine tells you what it is before it lets you use it.”

“What kind of price?”

“I don’t know.  But you’re willing.  Every time.”

Wherein the Human Brain is Not an Organ Well Suited to Understanding Time Travel

_Artie- an Artie who stopped existing somewhere along the way- woke up and saw Jim’s face after being shot on a solo mission in Denver and thanked God for it._

_"Jim,” he breathed, trailing his fingers over his partner’s lips._

_All the reasons he'd left Jim- was it something someone had told him about the end of the world?- hadn't seemed to matter at all when a two-bit counterfeiter had a gun trained on him and he thought he was going to die having walked out on Jim without saying goodbye or telling him he loved him.  And all the reasons he'd been too cowardly to tell Jim he was leaving that day- sneaking away like a thief instead while Jim was still in town- and all the reasons he'd been too cowardly to tell Jim he loved him all those years had seemed like no reasons at all when he thought he was bleeding out on the floor._

_"Jim," he repeated.  "I really thought I was a goner that time."  As indeed he had been, though he wouldn't figure that out until much later.  "I- I missed you.  I'm sorry I left."_

_"I missed you, too," Jim practically coughed out, with such a wealth of feeling in his voice that it was as if he'd been without Artie for two decades rather than two months.  He kissed Artie's fingertips where they still lingered over his lips._

_"I love you."  Jim had surprised the words Artie had kept down for so long right out of him._

_Jim looked pleased, but not surprised.  "I love you, too," he said._

_"I'm sorry," Artie said again.  And he was, deeply.  For having wasted so much time._

_"It's okay," Jim laughed, a little breathlessly.  "We're together now, and it's all going to be fine."_

_That time through, Artie was so utterly, indescribably happy that he was lucky to have two thoughts to rub together at a given time- let alone the wherewithal to realize that he and Jim had been absolutely alone together for a very long time.  And that time, when he did figure it out, he was the slowest to believe it._

_That Artie- it isn’t right to say he loved Jim more than any other version of Artie did- they all loved Jim in their way, even when they hated him too- but he did feel… differently.  He felt rather as though he’d been robbed- robbed of the man he thought he knew, the man he'd fallen in love with, and the life they should have had together.  He also understood better than any other version of him that it wasn’t what he did that mattered, wasn’t what he felt or claimed to feel._

_It was Jim._

_So that Artie tried getting his past self to make Jim love him more rather than less; that might have been the time that came closest to working overall._

_He’d thought that maybe if Jim was just happy enough, maybe if they just spent enough time together, Jim wouldn't feel so like he'd had Artie stolen out from under him._

_Maybe, maybe, maybe._

*   *   *

Artie stared at Jim for a long time, then asked, “Where do I find this device, Jim?”

Jim tilted his head to one side, and eyed Artie thoughtfully.  Then, a little reluctantly, he let Artie go and walked out of the parlor.  Artie followed him to his lab and watched as Jim rooted through a trunk of devices that Artie had collected from various inventors and mad scientists over the years and left there, determining what they did during furloughs one by one.  He’d accepted a long time ago that he’d never work his way through all of them.

He pulled out a contraption, made primarily of leather and of about the right size to fit over a man's wrist and hand.  It had a number of small levers and dials on the back, and Jim handed it to Artie.

“You’re telling me we’ve had this all along?”

Jim nodded.  “That you had a lot of free time,” he said, making Artie shiver.  “He figured out what all of them do.  You always do eventually.”

But now Jim was just telling him about it.  Artie wondered why, but decided not to ask yet.  Instead, "Is it functional?"

"No.  It's... broken- or maybe it never really worked in the first place.  But you can fix it.  You always fix it.  You could probably do it in less than a month if you knew what was wrong with it."

"And you know that?"

"I don't understand the principles behind it, but your findings- yes.  I remember them."

"And you'll just... help me?  Why?"

“Why not?” Jim said with a shrug.  “It’ll speed things along.”

Artie turned the device over in his hands a few times, filing what Jim had said away to ask him about it later.  For now, he just considered the situation.  He would’ve liked to say he didn’t know what those future versions of him had been thinking, but he did; he was thinking about it now.  

Jim let this happen so he could bring Artie back, and thus all this was Artie’s fault.  If he could just find the key, the turning point, maybe he could keep Jim from doing it.  Make Jim fall out of love with him, maybe.  It would be much better to die without having ever touched the man he loved than to live to see that man become a monster. 

“And it’s always that same day?” he asked, thoughtfully.  “The day that you told me you loved me?”

“Yes.  I don’t know if it’s the device or you, but it’s always that day.”

“Why don’t I just tell myself not to go into that cave?”

Jim chuckled mirthlessly.  “Because the cave doesn’t mean anything.  It’s how you died this time, sure, but I never let us make the same mistakes twice.  Your… death- it’s always different.” 

He wrapped his arms around Artie from behind again and pillowed his head on Artie’s shoulder blade.

“Sometimes, it’s as much as two years after I tell you how I feel that I… lose you.  Sometimes it’s as little as two hours.  How it happens doesn’t really matter, just that you die.  And no matter what either of us does, you always die and I-”

“You bring me back, I reset us, and you play the game all over again.” 

Jim shrugged and ran his mouth across Artie’s temple.  “It’s better than nothing.  I get on the train and tell you I love you.  Sometimes you throw your arms around me and laugh.  Sometimes you hit me.  Sometimes we make love and sometimes we watch each other awkwardly while you telegraph your resignation to Colonel Richmond.”

From the moment Jim had begun to talk about the loop, Artie had known that it couldn’t have been easy- but suddenly he was bowled over by the sheer magnitude of things he and Jim had shared- the good and the very, very bad- that he didn’t remember.  Jim might have been with him for decades all told, and every single thing that had happened during that time was Jim’s to carry and his alone. 

No wonder he seemed so strange to Artie now, so not-quite-like the man Artie had known.  That man was long gone.  He’d grown _old_.

What Happened in Artie’s Lab, Take #13

_He was tweaking one of his old formulas for knockout gas when the… man appeared, and once he started talking Artie didn’t know what he was doing anymore.  How could he?   No part of him, no corner of his being, wanted to believe that this man was_ him _from the future.  He didn't look anything like him, for God's sake.  His features were technically similar to Artie's, and his height and build were right- and yet everything about him was very, very wrong.  This man- with his clammy, off-color skin and his sloppily cut hair, with his bandaged knuckles and his hunched, weary walk- was a terrible sight.  A pitiable sight, except for his set, determined mouth and his empty, soulless eyes.  That mouth and those eyes made Artie afraid of him._

_Doubly afraid, because the man had told him… things.  Things that Artie could have sworn no one but him knew.  Because, though reason suggested he was talking nonsense, his appearance lent his words a terrible kind of believability.  No double would look so little like Artie- what would be point?_

_And, looking at him, Artie suspected that if ever there were sights to motivate a man to change the past, this one had seen them._

_But what he said about Jim confessing love for him- ridiculous!  And his proposition that Artie in turn claim disgust instead of passion, say the words he’d lived so long afraid Jim would say to him- more ridiculous still._ Lie to him _, the... man had choked out._ Tell him you don’t love him.  You can’t.  Tell him it- he- disgusts you and you can’t even look at him anymore.   _As if anything in the world could induce him to give up not just the friendship he valued above his own life- but the possibility of more that he’d so long thought himself a fool to so much as dream of._

_“Get out,” Artie said.  With a gun in his hand and the cabinet which had held it at his back he felt brave enough._

_“I’m trying to help you.”  The man had an expression rather like pity on his face and it looked bizarre, like an expression he hadn’t worn in a long time and could no longer form properly.  He had a gun of his own in his hand, but for some reason he’d never bothered to brandish it.  It looked like Artie’s gun._

_“I don’t care what you’re trying to do, or who you are- because you’re sure as hell not me.  You need to get the hell out.  Right now.”  Artie set his jaw and pulled the hammer back._

_“All right,” the man said in a measured voice.  He even put his hands up._

_Artie had only half thought that would work.  He blinked._

_The man opened a trapdoor in the floor and departed.  Artie fired, but a second too late to hit anything- if indeed he’d wanted to hit anything.  Artie only half thought he had.  He sucked in a breath, more rattled than he liked to admit even to himself, and followed._

The end of the world _, the man had said._ Jim’s soul _, he’d said._

_Artie didn't know what he wanted._

_Without ever actually deciding that he believed the other man's story- believed that the other man was_ him _\- Artie went in the direction he would have gone in had he slipped out of the train in that fashion.  He found footprints, and then the footprints just... vanished.  The hair on the back of Artie's neck was standing on end as he went back to his lab.  He felt strange, sick to his stomach and filled with dread._

_He believed it.  He was all but doubled over with believing it, and he knew that he could tell himself it was ridiculous all he wanted- a part of him would always believe it._

_He put his pistol back in the cabinet drawer, turned and saw Jim in the doorway.  He startled mightily and flushed a little at his own skittishness- nervous as a boy and more rattled than if he’d seen a ghost.  Speaking of ghosts, James looked like one- pale and haunted.   "Are you all right?" was out of Artie's mouth before he'd thought twice about it.  Jim was hope, Jim was sanity.  Artie had been counting on Jim to talk and act as he always had and give the lie to the other Artie's words in the way Artie's own senses refused to- and yet he looked as though he'd had no less of a trial than Artie had._

_"I am now," Jim breathed, and crossed to him.  He took Artie in a strange embrace, one hand firm at his back, the other firmer still against his breast.  It pressed so hard against his heart it hurt.  His voice was gravelly and the words came slow, as if his tongue was a rusted hinge.  He kissed Artie, quickly enough it was practically platonic, but Artie’s blood still ran cold._

I saw a man, _Artie meant to say_.  He told me some crazy things.  He’d told me you’d say-

_Jim beat Artie to it.  “I love you,” he said.  He kissed Artie again._

_A part of Artie's brain could do nothing but catalogue the impossible sensations.  Jim's lips, warm and firm.  The taste of the whiskey he'd been drinking and the salty, musky smell of his sweat.  Another part of Artie simply thought,_ Crazy _again.  It_ was _crazy- crazy to think that something so simple, so small in the grand scheme of things as their little chance at happiness could have any bearing on something so complicated, so big as the fate of the world.  It was perhaps crazier still to refuse the one thing he'd ever wanted, whatever the price._

_But in a moment, a tiny lull that seemed to be over in a heartbeat and yet last for a thousand years, Artie knew that he would.  He didn't know how yet, but he would._

_But while Artie had been thinking, Jim had been doing.  Artie's shirt was unbuttoned and Jim's hand was back over Artie's heart, pressing hard against bare skin.  Jim's other hand slid downward.  Artie's mouth went dry and for a moment he lost himself in the sensations.  Jim's fingers were almost feverishly hot and he kissed Artie again, seeming to devour him from the inside out.  Jim had to feel Artie's heart racing, and when he found Artie's cock he had know that it was harder than it had ever been before.  Jim let moaned.  Artie felt it vibrate through his mouth, and Jim's whole body shuddered against him._

_In that part of him which had somehow remained dispassionate, it occurred to Artie that though he might believe the other Artie's words about the fate of the world, his proposition for how Artie might prevent this catastrophe was a wash.  Even as he considered and discarded a thousand ways to tell Jim he didn't want him, Artie's body was very firmly signaling that he did.  Jim wouldn't believe it, and if he pushed Artie’s walls would crumble._

_But maybe... maybe he could stop Jim wanting_ him _._

_Jim massaged Artie through his trousers, just fast enough, just firm enough, and Artie's hips bucked him into Jim's palm.  He moaned himself, and sucked on Jim's tongue.  It gave him an idea.   Jim was proud, masculine, self-assured.  He liked to be in control; he wouldn't like having it snatched away from him.  
_

_Artie raised his own hands, hanging uselessly at his sides until then, and pulled Jim to him.  Jim may have been technically the stronger, but Artie had both weight and height on him.  Bracing himself, Artie turned them and slammed Jim against the nearest wall, kissing him hard enough to bruise.  Even as he told himself that Jim would push him away, wouldn't stand for it, Artie felt his arousal spike to know that- however briefly- he had Jim pinned._

_But Jim didn't fight him.  He kissed Artie back, yet made no effort to take back the lead.  Artie softened, warmed immediately.  If taking control from Jim was sweet, having Jim give it to him was even sweeter.  Artie wanted to call it good, but he didn't let himself.  "Find something to brace against," he growled in Jim's ear instead.  "I want to fuck you."_

_He felt Jim's body stiffen against him briefly and smiled unhappily to himself.  What would he say when Jim refused?_ Then you really don’t love me at all, do you? _It would be cruel enough, wouldn't it?  But Jim didn't refuse.  Artie let him up and heard Jim moving away, but not leaving the lab.  Then he heard fabric rustling and realized that Jim was undressing.  Jim was obeying._

_Artie's heart clenched.  It was all he wanted- all it felt like he'd_ ever _wanted- to take Jim to bed.  In his imaginings, he'd seduced Jim slowly, gently.  Showed him step by step how good he could make him feel.  And though he'd always enjoyed the idea of being inside his partner eventually, he would never have pressured him into it- and never thought of it as he did now.  As something impersonal, something meant to alienate Jim and not please him.  It was all those dreams turned into a nightmare- and if that other Artie really was a double, and this was a ploy to ruin their partnership...  Well, it looked like it was going to work._

_He kept his eyes closed and his mouth shut until he couldn't hear anything anymore.  And then he looked up._

_Jim was braced between the desk and the wall, and he was naked._

_Artie drew a shallow breath.  God in heaven, but Jim was gorgeous.  Artie had enjoyed that looking at that body a hundred times, but never known he could touch- really touch- before.  He took a lurching step forward, then another, and crossed to Jim,.  He put a hand on Jim's bare back, feeling it flex warm and strong under his hand.  The muscles in Jim's arms, straining slightly from holding him up, looked all the better now that Artie had had those arms around him- and the firm yet rounded curve of Jim's backside, always tempting, was all the sweeter bared for him._

_There was a bottle of oil in one of the desk drawers and Artie retrieved it.  His undid his trousers and drew out his cock, already leaking.  He greased it quickly and then turned back to Jim, spreading him with slick hands._

_"Jim-"  he started, with no idea what he meant to say._

_Jim opened his legs a little more, inviting, and bent his head.  Artie couldn't see his face, and he was glad of it._

_Artie had to guide himself to Jim's opening and push three times before he finally felt it give.  Artie hissed.  For the first few seconds, Jim held him like a vice, more painful than pleasant.  He waited for a slow count of three.  He heard Jim take a rattling breath and loosen around him.  Artie pushed forward again, and groaned loudly, unable to hear any sound Jim might've made.  Now it felt nothing but good._

_Artie buried himself completely and had to pause, panting, struggling to adjust to the sensations bombarding him.  Jim was unbelievably tight.  The complex smell of him filled Artie's nose and the sight of him spread on Artie's cock took his breath away.  Groaning again, he withdrew partway and thrust home again._

_Moving inside Jim felt better than anything.  The hot pull and slide of it drove him half out of his mind.  He wanted go hard and fast, seeking only more and more of that pleasure, and he followed those instincts, gripping Jim's hips as he drove in and out of him with eyes closed._

_But eventually Artie's eyes flickered open.  The expanse of smooth, bronze skin and the pale curve of Jim's neck, bent and exposed before him, was so beautiful Artie's heart almost cracked._

_Artie sobbed softly and kissed Jim’s upper back, nuzzled his neck and buried his face in his hair.  He almost told Jim that he loved him more than anything and that nothing- not even the end of the damn world- would ever induce him to treat him so badly again.  He loved Jim a lot better than he loved the rest of the world._

_But he bit back the words and said only, "Jim."   He stroked his partner's hip and with a trembling hand began to reach around him, needing to touch him at the very least._

_Jim caught his hand, threaded their fingers together, and wrapped both their arms around his chest.  Artie shuddered at the intimacy of it.  Everything seemed heightened to an almost unbearable level- the crisp hair on Jim's arm rubbing against his own, his chest pressed to Jim's back, sliding in sweat.  He started to thrust again, slower this time, gently.  The warm, easy drag of it felt better than all the rough, frenetic pounding in the world- and that somehow made it all the worse._

_When Artie came, he didn't entirely expect it.  He jerked hard between one thrust and another, crushing Jim to him.  He saw stars and then blacked out entirely._

_Later, Artie would wire his transfer request to Colonel Richmond and send a boy to get him a cab.  Later, Jim would be on his knees with Artie’s fingers tight in his hair, swallowing the last of his seed when the cab arrived.  Later, Jim would wipe his mouth, do up Artie’s trousers for him, hand him his carpet bag and see him to the door like they were friends saying goodbye for a few days rather than whatever they were saying goodbye forever._

_But for now Artie simply came to and gave himself a moment to slump against Jim’s back, panting.  In a corner of his mind he'd never really understand or fathom, he already knew that it wasn't going to work._

_Nothing ever did._   

*   *   *

Jim sighed, his warm breath on Artie’s neck giving him a chill.  “I used to be better at it than I am now.  It’s just that lately I’ve been so tired.  I know that you love me.  It… it hurts to watch you pretend that you don’t.”

“Sorry,” Artie whispered, because he was.  He hadn’t expected that, and he’d been a fool not to.  The device felt heavy in his hands.  

“It’s okay,” Jim returned immediately.  “It’s my own fault, I suppose.  I guess I just keep hoping that things will change.”

“Change how, Jim?  What do you _want_?”

“I don’t want anything but you.  But maybe..."  Jim swallowed.  "Maybe if I go before you it’ll finally be over.”

“Oh, Jim.”  _What a terrible hope to have to live with_ , Artie thought.  He didn't like to pity Jim, but he did.  _This_ had been hell on Earth, and if he'd known what he’d been putting Jim through... “Have you never told me all of this before?  That every time I do this I drag your… consciousness back with me?”

“I guess I haven’t,” Jim admitted, pressing his face to Artie’s hair.

"How can that be?"

Jim was silent.

“All right," Artie sighed.  "What made this time different, then?”

"Every time is a little different.  The first time I did it- the first time I brought you back- I wasn't really thinking about anything except seeing you again.  If I was thinking anything, I suppose it was that-"

"What?"

"Nothing.  Never mind.  The second time it happened- that was the first time I relived it all- I almost couldn't do it.  Richmond transferred you that time- I think that must have been your work, but I didn’t know that back then.  I didn’t really understand what was happening.  The first time, you’d kept the machine a secret from me.  It was like having a second chance to be with you and to fix all the mistakes I’d made.  And the transfer- it would take you away from me for a while, but it would also keep you safe.”    

“But it didn’t.”  It wasn’t a question.  Artie half remembered, half just… knew, without knowing how he knew- like so many things, lately.

“No.  You were killed.  It was a goddamn carriage accident.  And I’d- I’d been… saving.  Looking for a house that we could live in without raising eyebrows.  And then I lost you.  I couldn’t even say goodbye.”

“You couldn’t live with it.”  That wasn’t a question either.

“What was I supposed to do, Artie?  Sit that house and think of all the years we should have had together until I drove myself mad?  Well, I did.  I knew just how bad it would be, just how much damage would be done.  And I knew that you’d hate me for it if I brought you back because you had before.  I knew I’d hate myself.  I lived in that house and waited to die for five years, and when those five years were over I was willing to do anything touch you one last time- even if you could never forgive me.” 

Artie sighed.  He’d say that Jim was going to break his heart, but he was pretty sure that horse was out of the barn.   "The first time, Jim- you couldn't really have been thinking about the consequences, could you?  If you'd... weighed it..."  Artie trailed off, not even knowing where he was going with the statement.  He remembered something he'd thought about asking earlier, about all the times Jim had thought him dead before, and wished he could alter the question as he had then.  It was strange to think that there was an extent to which he didn’t want to believe Jim loved him.  He couldn't think of anything else to ask. 

"The first time...” Jim began slowly.  “The first time I told you I loved you, we made love and you were shot in a bank robbery the next day.  It took you a day and a half to die.  And when it was over I had only one thought left in my head: that that wouldn’t be the last time I held you in my arms.  So no, I wasn't thinking about consequences.  And more or less from then on, I didn't think much at all, because there didn't seem to _be_ consequences.  Not really." 

Something about the way Jim said it and the haunted look in his eyes gave the lie to his words.  There were consequences- just not the kind Artie was talking about.  Not the kind that were so much bigger than the two of them, the kind Artie had always believed Jim lived by.  But he’d suffered consequences all the same.   

Wherein the Human Heart is Not an Organ Well Suited to Experiencing Time Travel

_Jim had said,_ You’re really alive and you’re really you this time. _That wasn’t always true.  The times when the alive bit was part in question were probably the worst.  Dead Artie found out the truth earlier than most of his counterparts because one of the properties that, being dead, he lacked was the ability to heal._

_Jim told him everything so that he’d be careful, but he broke half his knuckles punching Jim in the face anyway._

_Eventually he gave up, choking on that filmy smoke that always settled on the back of his throat no matter which time it was and sobbing, and Jim wrapped his arms around his back and held him tight, making soothing noises.  Jim had lost his ability to weep somewhere around the first time._

_As much as he still loved the man, if he heard him say the words,_ I couldn’t live without you _, one more time, especially in the wake of what it had actually made him do, Artie was going to shoot his partner.  Though the circumstances were about as unromantic as any Artie could imagine, he kissed him instead.  It was strange and familiar and old and new at the same time, and the best and worst kiss he’d ever had._   _Though the circumstances were about as unromantic as any Artie could imagine_ , _he wanted more._

_He reached between Jim’s legs, and found him hard.  “Fuck me,” he said, the next time he could speak._

_Artie_ _had to make Jim go through with it after they figured out that Artie couldn’t get an erection; he also figured out that he could make Jim do almost anything by threatening to hurt himself._

_"Feels good, Jim,” he said, though it didn’t.  It didn’t exactly hurt, either- it turned out Artie couldn’t feel pain as such- but without the haze of arousal it was just uncomfortable and strange.  From the sounds Jim was making above and behind him, Artie had a feeling it was hurting Jim a lot more than it was him._

_They didn’t try it again._

_For a while- maybe weeks, maybe months- Artie sucked Jim off when he got hard.  Artie liked that; with the full flavor of Jim’s cock on his palate, he could almost forget about the smoke, almost forget the taste of it.  Then Artie found the time device and lost a bargaining chip.  Jim worked out that Artie needed to keep himself functional if he wanted to get the device working, so he knew Artie wouldn’t break anything important._

_After that they reached a stalemate: Jim couldn’t stop Artie from working on the device without hurting him, so Artie worked away and had to consider himself lucky if Jim let Artie touch him at all anymore.  Mostly, if Jim got hard he just ignored it, but Artie knew that sometimes he went into another room with a dull blade and did things Artie couldn't bear to know about if he couldn't put a stop to them.  Jim slowly conditioned himself not to get aroused at all._

_It wasn't long before they barely touched more than once a night.  Then, Jim would tug Artie out of his lab, gentle but insistent, sit Artie down on the couch in the parlor and get on his knees in front of him.  Then he’d change the wrappings on Artie’s forever broken knuckles with unbearably tender hands._

_He never said a word or made a sound until he was finished, at which point he’d pillow his head in Artie’s lap, and Artie’s fingers would run through Jim’s hair without permission from Artie’s head, and in a voice hoarse from disuse- most of the time, Jim never made another sound all day- he’d murmur, “I love you.”_

_By the time Artie was finished fixing the device, he’d forgotten what those words really meant.  There had never been a jailer sweeter than James, but a jailer he’d been- and_ I love you _from his lips meant nothing but death._

_That Artie hated Jim as much as he loved him by the time he was finished._

_That Artie brought his own gun and thought seriously about not speaking to his old self at all- just waiting in the parlor and finishing it.  Killing his partner when he boarded the train was beyond doubt the only way to make sure it didn't happen that way again.  Even knowing that, Artie couldn’t do it.  He didn’t want to kill Jim- make him cease to exist for greater good, maybe, but kill him with his own hands? There had to be another way._

_All the same, when he asked that younger, living version of himself to lie to Jim, it was hard to get his mouth around the words.  They hadn’t been lies to him for a long time._

*   *   *

Artie shook himself and said, “Maybe there’s something else.” He set the device down on a nearby table and turned in Jim’s arms.  “Maybe I want to try something new this time around.”

He fitted their lips together. 

Jim sighed and leaned into him, letting Artie lick his way into his mouth.  There was a frisson of heat- and something more than heat- and Artie began to remember.  Not everything- not like Jim- but some of the things that had been on the edges of his mind for God only knew how long started to come into focus. 

As soon as they did, Artie knew one thing for sure: he couldn’t keep doing this.

He’d already driven James at least partially insane.  He’d forced them into this god-awful loop too many times- and not to save the world, not really.  To save Jim.  To keep him from ever feeling whatever it was that had driven him to this in the first place.  But Jim was beyond saving in that respect, and maybe not just because Artie dragged him back too every time he did it.  Maybe he'd always been beyond saving, and he certainly always would be.  The man that Artie had fallen in love with had died that first time, holding Artie in his arms, and he’d never come back.

Artie was still curious, though.  “Why do you suppose the machine pulls you back when I use it?” he asked when he broke the kiss.  It seemed a counterintuitive feature to include. 

“Maybe because I’m connected to you.  My soul, I mean.  Where you go, I go.”

“I can’t believe you just said that.” 

It sounded awfully sappy for Jim, and the younger man looked a little embarrassed to have said it, but he shrugged.  He had a wry and crooked but genuine smile on his face. 

“You don’t really believe that, do you, James?”

The gentle humor never left Jim’s expression as he nodded to the window.  “Look outside and tell me what I believe.”

Oh, Artie knew what Jim believed.  He didn’t want to know it or accept it, but he did- because he remembered now. 

He remembered that he'd tried a more hands off approach the first time and- as Jim suspected- just gotten his past self transferred out of Jim's life- and he remembered all the other times that he'd convinced himself to leave without even saying goodbye to Jim.  He remembered times he’d told himself to love Jim for all he was worth and make the most of their time together.  He remembered times he’d told himself to make Jim believe that he was disgusted by Jim’s feelings for him and couldn’t get far enough away from him.  He remembered times he’d told himself everything in between.  He remembered making the same essential set of changes over and over again, because every time he went back he thought it was the first.  He remembered that none of it ever, _ever_ , did any good.

Artie shrugged away from Jim, went to the wall and sat heavily, leaning against it.  Jim followed and wrapped an arm around him, pillowing Artie’s head on his chest like they’d been doing it for years- because they had.  No matter how they played it, no matter what Artie did, they always ended up like this.  He thought about fighting it and decided not to.  He cuddled up against Jim instead. 

“I guess there’s only one thing left to try.”

“What?”

“Not doing this anymore.”  Jim tensed very slightly, but he didn’t pull away.  Artie looked up at him, and he didn’t look surprised or even upset, just tired.  “I don’t mean being together, Jim- I’ve obviously tried that one enough times.  I mean I need to stop trying to change things.”

“How?  You’ll just forget you ever decided that.”

“I won’t forget, Jim.  Not this time.”  He cupped Jim’s cheek, seeing the way Jim leaned into his hand even with his face bruised from it and letting it decide him.  “Because I’m not going back.”

Jim’s eyes flew open in shock, and he looked more anxious than pleased. 

Artie had expected that: Jim had as much as told Artie that he'd grown accustomed to none of his choices being exactly permanent. All those accumulated lives must weigh heavy after so long- but Jim would probably never be ready for one to be the last.

“But this- this isn’t perfect.”

Something about the way Jim said the words made Artie suspect he'd thought them many times before.  Maybe that was what he'd really been hoping for- not his own death, but some idealized version of their life together.  Maybe he'd even told himself that after he found it he'd be able to let Artie go. 

But Artie knew he’d never find it. 

"Nothing's ever perfect," he told Jim. 

What Happened in Artie’s Lab, Take #49

_He was tweaking one of his old formulas for knockout gas when he heard the telegraph machine and went into the parlor to take it down.  He was so busy writing that he barely processed it-_ transferred _and_ Washington _and_ desk duty _played over his ears without really clicking in his mind.  But then they did click, and Artie felt his stomach plummet to the floor.  He read over the message he'd taken down- hoping perhaps that between one thought and the next the content of it might have changed.  It hadn't._

_He was being transferred- promoted, the colonel had called it, but if there was very a more backhanded compliment than being promoted out of the field Artie didn't know of it.  He heard what the colonel hadn't said- that he was getting too old for field work._

_He wondered where this had come from, if someone had said something to the colonel.  If maybe Jim had... but no, that wouldn't be like Jim.  If he didn't think Artie could handle the job anymore, he would've said so to him directly.  Wouldn't he?_

_Artie was still standing stunned with the message in his hands when Jim appeared in the doorway.  Jim had the broadest smile Artie had ever seen on his face and such… light in his eyes.  If God had come down from his heaven to tell James what a good boy he’d been personally, he couldn’t have looked more full of awe or joy.  Surely Jim didn't know what was in that message, surely he-_

_“Artie,” Jim breathed, cutting off Artie's panicked thoughts by pulling him into a crushing embrace.  “You’re all right.”  He pressed his lips to the side of Artie’s face, fairly shocking all memory of the telegram out of him.  “Everything’s all right.”  Jim laughed happily and spun him around._

_Artie laughed too, though out of nervousness rather than pleasure.  He held Jim back carefully.  A hug was rare enough, but this was more than that, and he’d respond to the more if Jim wasn’t careful.  “Did I get killed while I wasn’t looking again, Jim?”_

_Jim pressed his cheek to Artie’s.  “Something like that.”_

_When Artie felt something warm and wet sliding from Jim’s face to his- surely Jim wasn’t crying- he began to struggle, really beginning to be afraid.  Jim didn’t let him go.  Instead, he turned his face and kissed Artie’s mouth.  Artie jerked away, shock giving him the strength to break free of Jim’s grip._

_“I’m being transferred,” Artie blurted out._

_At the exact same moment, Jim said, “I love you.”_

_“Richmond wants me manning a desk in Washington- you what?”_

_“I love you- you’re leaving?”  Jim’s expression was a complicated one, as if he was devastated and relieved all at once by this news.  Obviously he hadn't known, hadn't asked for this- but he didn't seem to entirely hate the idea either.  He looked at Artie’s face and must have seen something in it that brought him back to his original point because he kissed Artie again, light and quick but with frightening passion.  “Love you so much.”_

_“Do you really?” Artie whispered, stunned by the fervent touches.  He decided to deal only with the fear and loss in Jim’s eyes, rather than the relief.  He didn’t want to spend his last days with Jim fighting him over whether it was demeaning to want him out of the field, even if it meant he'd be safer.  Even if it was because he loved him._

_“More than anything.”_

_“Would you- will you wait for me?”_

_“For a thousand years,” Jim promised fervently._

_Artie stared at the sincerity- and the love- in his usually undemonstrative partner’s face and felt a need to kiss him so strong it was like a living thing quivering in his belly.  Artie was no stranger to this need, but for the first time there was no reason not to act on it.  He kissed Jim fiercely and he couldn’t imagine anything that felt or tasted better than his partner._

_Jim held him back with equal fervor, twining strong, solid arms around him.  This alone was such a revelation that Artie knew a substantial erection would be prodding against Jim’s hip.  Jim didn’t seem to mind it, though.  He even shifted slightly so Artie could feel his answering hardness._

_Groaning, Artie kissed him even deeper.  There was so much he wanted to do with Jim; Jim’s promise to wait for him notwithstanding, they didn’t have a lot of time.  And he knew now exactly how he_ did _want to spend his last days with Jim._

_“I want,” Artie panted when he broke the kiss, unable to articulate more than that.  Talking about sex had never been a problem for Artie- he’d even venture to say he was very good at it- but with Jim he didn’t know where to start.  He could hardly get the breath to speak._

_Jim didn’t seem to mind that either.  He smiled- slow, warm, happy- and said, “Anything you want.”  He kissed the skin under Artie’s ear._

Anything _sounded like an excellent proposition- but where to begin?  “Want everything,” Artie managed, laughing breathlessly at himself.  To think he was an educated man._

_Jim smiled again, kissing down his neck.  As if by magic, or perhaps by some intuition Artie hadn’t been aware anyone possessed, he found all the places where Artie was most sensitive, sucking gently- just enough to make Artie arch against him without leaving a mark.  And when Artie thought the strength was about to go out of his legs entirely, Jim took most of his weight and backed him up, bracing him against a wall._

_“Oh, God,” Artie breathed as Jim’s leg wedged between his thighs, pressing his erection flush against firm muscle._

_Jim undid Artie’s tie and the first few buttons of his shirt, kissing lower and lower._

_Artie’s hips worked and his nails dug into Jim’s back.  “Jesus,” he whimpered.  At the rate Jim was going, he wouldn’t even be out of his pants before he came- and wouldn’t that be embarrassing?_

_He reached between them and undid Jim’s trousers, finding hot, hard flesh.  He wrapped his fist around Jim’s cock and started to stroke, hoping to equalize things.  He modified his grip and speed until he felt Jim buck against him, heard him groan.  Jim fixed his mouth to Artie’s collarbone and sucked again, this time hard enough to leave a mark.  Artie liked that, liked him desperate._

_“Uh-uh,” Jim choked out after a moment.  Artie passed his thumb over the head of Jim’s cock at every pull, and he was leaking profusely.  “Together.”_

_“Yeah,” Artie agreed, and let Jim get his hand between them too, freeing Artie’s painfully hard cock.  Jim fitted them together. “Oh,” Artie gasped as Jim took them both in hand, finding the perfect rhythm right away._

_Jim silenced him by crushing their lips together again.  Artie made fists of Jim’s shirt._

_When Jim’s tongue slipped between his lips, Artie was bombarded by sensations: Jim’s slick mouth; the whiskey-flavored taste of him; the hard, hot flesh sliding against his in the circle of Jim’s hand.  Artie moaned, the sound muffled by Jim’s lips, and his hips sped up.  He sucked on Jim’s tongue and came sharply, jerking and spilling against his partner._

_Jim’s mouth slid wetly down to Artie’s jaw.  He released Artie’s softening cock and stroked himself with Artie’s seed until he spent.  He collapsed against Artie’s chest._

_Artie panted, raising his hands to card his fingers through Jim’s hair.  His legs felt like jelly, and their position braced against the wall was beginning to seem like a less than great idea._ Next time, we ought to be in bed, _Artie thought.  When Jim galvanized, shifting his weight off Artie, he didn’t look like he regretted it.  He looked like Artie had given him everything he’d ever wanted.  Artie doubted he looked any less soppy himself.  He shifted a little and winced.  Sweat had plastered his shirt to his back and chest, and his trousers were sticky with their mingled ejaculate._ Next time, we ought to be naked, _Artie thought._  

_It was a warming thought.  Satisfied as it was, Artie even felt his cock twitch in response to the proposition and he smiled wryly.  He was surprised by how good it had been.  Oh, he’d always been sure it would be better with Jim than anyone else- but Jim was a great deal more comfortable around another man’s cock than Artie had ever dreamed he would be._

_“You’ve done this before,” Artie remarked, realizing too late that he might not want to know, or that Jim might not want to tell him._

_Jim shrugged.  “I suppose,” he said, as if he wasn’t entirely sure.  “Once.”  He paused again.  “Well, not once.  But- you know._ Once. _”_

_Artie didn’t know- at least, he didn’t think he knew.  But then again, maybe he did._ Once that mattered _, maybe._ _Or,_ many times, but with one man _.  Or maybe even,_ many times, but in one night _.  Whatever Jim meant, that_ Once _resonated.  There was too much intensity in Jim’s face as he spoke the word for it not to.  Love and loss, hope and regret.  Artie might not know the story, but he knew one thing- he wanted to be more than_ Once _to Jim._

*   *   *

“No.”  Jim looked pained.  “I mean I’m… broken.  A lot of the time, I can’t-”

“I think- I know, Jim.  I think I saw.”  Artie stroked his partner’s face.  “But another ride on the merry-go-round or twenty won’t fix you.  Anyway, God only knows how long it’ll be before I have this epiphany again.”  He conjured a smile.  “Look on the bright side- I’m really me and I’m really alive this time, remember?  We have that.”

Jim smiled back, but kept trying.  “What if I was the one who went back this time?”

When Artie figured out what Jim meant, if he’d said he wasn’t tempted it would’ve been a lie.  If Artie didn’t follow Jim, it would be an almost complete reset- but there was no guarantee that everything wouldn’t follow the same terrible pattern all over again if neither of them remembered. 

But if Artie _did_ remember, he might well have enough future knowledge to make everything all right again- and if he and Jim agreed that when he went back he’d destroy that damned time device for good…

“What would you say to yourself, if you did?”

“Nothing.  I told you, I’ve done nothing I wouldn’t do again.”

An almost complete reset indeed.  And if Artie’s current consciousness _was_ returned to his old body, he could have the Jim he’d fallen in love with, the Jim with relatively clean hands.  He could have the Jim who was not, as Jim had put it, broken. 

Oh, Artie was tempted all right.  But he didn’t think it would work.  He refused to believe that there was something inherently wrong- destructive- about the way they loved each other.  There was, therefore, only one thing left for him to conclude.  That the past couldn’t be changed; that it _fought_ change, solidifying as quickly as possible back into the shape it had previously taken.  Maybe he just had to die.  Maybe Jim had to react as he did. 

Everything ends, or so people said.  Maybe this was it.  Maybe Artie just had to accept that and let go.  He told Jim so, softly, and then, into the contemplative silence, asked, “Would you kiss me for a while, Jim?”  

Mouth curling upwards slightly, Jim obliged him.  As he did so, Artie reflected ruefully that Jim was right about one thing.  There was only really one way to describe the situation. 

Wherein... Things Are Complicated

_"How- how could you do it?”_

_The first time Artie asked was the hardest for both of them.  For Jim, it was because every time after he knew what would come next, knew Artie wouldn’t understand; in the beginning, despite what he would say later, he’d honestly hoped he would.  For Artie, it was because though he didn’t carry the memories with him the way Jim did, a part of him- some tiny part he couldn’t access consciously- never forgot the answer, just as it never forgot that somehow, for some godforsaken reason, it was all always going to be their fault._

_The first time, it was Artie standing in the parlor after the end of world, with his arms crossed over his breaking heart and a charred empty plain visible through the window over his shoulder.  "No- not just how, even.  Why?” he demanded.  “_ Why _did you do it?”_

_"Because I love you.”  Jim's face was expressionless; his words were as stubbornly simple as a little child’s might be.  Artie hardly recognized him anymore.  “Because I needed to see you again.”_

_"Jim-”_

_"Because I’ve known men who could travel between dimensions or make themselves invisible, and scientists who could condition a man’s behavior or change what he looks like- and, yes, even bring back the dead.  I haven’t been through all that to just let you go like-”_

_"Like?”_

_"Like anyone else.”_

_If the way Jim said_ anyone else _gave Artie a chill, the spirit behind it froze his blood.  “And so becoming the same kind of monster became an acceptable option?” he asked sharply.  It gave Artie an ache- a tangible, physical ache stabbing right through his heart- to ever have to question Jim's conception of right and wrong._

_"You were dead,” Jim whispered, eyes wide, face pale.  “You were dead and I was desperate and you know what?  Nobody stopped it.”  He bowed his head.  “I think maybe I thought- nobody stopped it.”_

_The ache blossomed into something deeper, worse, as Artie understood._ I will _, he thought but didn’t say._ I'll stop it.  _He didn’t know how yet, but he would.  He’s find a way._

*   *   *

Jim kissed Artie for a long time, but eventually he wrapped himself around Artie’s back again and just held him.  “There’s another way,” he said softly.  His hand was over Artie’s hand and he stroked his thumb over the back hypnotically.  “You could kill me.”

“I’m sure I’ve thought about it.”  Artie sighed and Jim pulled him tighter.  Sometimes he thought he could remember almost doing it, remember having the gun in his hand.  Metal had never felt so cold before, oil and powder had never smelled so foul.  “But I guess a part of me knows I wouldn’t be much better if I lost you and I didn’t know why.”  He turned in Jim’s arms to press his face to Jim’s heartbeat.  “How hypocritical is that?”

“It’s not,” Jim whispered.  “Or if it is, you can’t help it.  That’s just who we are.”

That seemed like the right answer, which was the worst part.  Artie buried his face against Jim’s chest to keep himself from saying that it wasn’t fair.  He knew perfectly well that fairness had nothing to do with it.

“We could kill each other.”

“ _Jim_.” 

“Artie, listen: we go back together.  That way, neither of us gets pulled back and it’s an almost complete reset.  It’ll be the first time all over again.” 

Artie raised to face to stare at Jim in shock, and Jim cupped his cheek. 

“And then we kill ourselves.  Our old selves.  There’s no shortage of deadly chemicals on the train- we could make it painless and it would look like an accident.” 

He ran a fingertip down the side of Artie’s face, tracing the curve from temple to chin. 

“Then we'll pay whatever price needs paying.”

“Jim- do you…” Artie’s mouth felt dry.  “Do you _want_ that?”

“Not really.  But I think even I’ll eventually tire of looking out the window and seeing _nothing_ and knowing that’s on me.  I guess I’ve gotten used to not really having to live with what I’ve done.  And you- you might forgive me, but you’ll never forget.”  

“I’m not sure I’ll ever do either.”

Jim nodded.  “And you’ll learn to hate me.”

“I already do.”  Artie would never get used to the way that Jim never took his hands off of him, never recoiled or winced or even looked in the least bit insulted or hurt when Artie said things like that.

Jim just nodded again.  “But I’ll live with that- with _this_ \- if you ask me to.”  He leaned down and kissed Artie’s mouth gently.  Artie kissed him back.  When he drew away, Jim asked softly, “So, if you’re right and the world has to end somehow- how much does it matter to you that it not be us?”

Artie wrapped his arms around Jim’s neck.  He was starting to forget how he’d fought this for so long.  Touching Jim felt so damned good.  “What was the first time like?” He could probably remember if he tried, but he wanted Jim to tell him.

“It was perfect,” Jim said with inarguable gravity.  He kissed Artie again.  “How much does it matter?”

He kissed Jim as deep and wet as he could, for as long as he could, and released him only when they were both breathless and he remembered how much he’d _wanted_ Jim before everything went so wrong.  Then he wrapped his arms tightly around his partner and waited for Jim to do the same. 

And then he gave Jim his answer.

What Happened in Artie’s Lab, Take- the First Time

_He was tweaking one of his old formulas for knockout gas.  He’d lost track of time, and was surprised to hear Jim’s step in the parlor.  It seemed as though he’d only just left._

_Artie was more surprised still when Jim came to see him in the lab and lingered with uncharacteristic shyness in the doorway for several moments._

_About to ask if he’d had a good time in town, Artie glanced up at his partner.  The expression on Jim’s face froze the words on Artie’s lips._

_Jim looked… strange- rattled in a way Artie hadn’t seen even when Jim was surrounded by half a dozen men.  But mingled with the fear was something like hope, and beneath that was a kind of unbearable fondness.  Artie had never even imagined such a look, let alone seen one.  He didn’t know how to even begin to address it._

_“What is it?” he asked instead, frightened._

_“I have to tell you something,” Jim whispered, and approached him, standing so near that Artie could smell his breath.  He smelled whiskey, but Jim obviously wasn’t drunk.  “I- I-” he stuttered slightly, which was something else that Artie had never known Jim to do.  “I love you.”_

_Artie swallowed, words he’d never anticipated hearing from Jim making it hard to behave in a reasonable fashion.  “I- well- of course you do, we’re partners.”_

_“No, I mean…” Jim leaned forward, brushing his fingers over Artie’s cheek, and fitted their lips together briefly, softly._

_When Jim pulled back, Artie stood there, gaping unattractively, for a very long time._

_That hint of fear in Jim’s eyes multiplied ten-fold, and he babbled sweetly while Artie just stared at him, trying to gather his thoughts. “I’ll transfer if you ask me to- but I swear I’ll never push you.  I just- I wanted you to know.  For a long time I-”_

_“Jim?” Artie said gently.  “Shut up.”  He kissed Jim himself.  Jim’s kiss had been almost chaste; Artie’s was decidedly not.  He ran his tongue over Jim’s teeth and held him tight.  Jim’s mouth was warm and Artie could taste the whiskey he’d drunk to get up the courage to admit how he felt.  When at last he had to let Jim go or smother, Artie sucked Jim’s lower lip into his mouth before releasing him._

_As he drew back, Jim looked happier than Artie had thought he_ could _look.  Artie didn’t blame him; he hadn’t thought he could be this happy himself._

_He kissed Jim’s lips several times, quickly, and grasped his hand, tugging him toward the next car.  “We’ve got orders,” he said.  “We have to visit a bank where they’ve had some counterfeit bills tomorrow.”_

_“Oh?”  Jim looked nonplussed._

_Artie kissed him again and laughed.  “I don’t really want to talk about work.”_

_“Why bring it up, then?”_

_“Because I love you too, in case it wasn’t clear.  And neither of us knows what’s going to happen next,” he replied.  They’d arrived in the sleeping compartment, and he gave Jim a small shove, tipping him over onto the bed and hoping it would make his point for him.  “I want to make the most of the time we have.”_

_Jim took hold of Artie’s hand, grinning, and pulled him down beside him.  Neither of them said anything else for a long time; they didn’t have to._

_Everything was as it should be._


End file.
